1.05.2012

Long Meals Together

Written for - though not currently appearing on - Lea Hannah's blog Eat.Grow.Live.

Once upon a time,

People held the idea of
hospitality in such high
esteem that if, say, your sworn enemy came to your home in disguise,
and you invited him in (which you would do, of course, because you
would invite in any and every traveling stranger in need of food and
shelter) and then, say, your best friend showed up at your doorstep
with an army and exposed the disguised enemy, you – as the host –
would refuse to deliver your enemy-guest to your best friend. If
your best friend threatened to capture the enemy-guest by force of
arms, you and everyone in your household would prepare to fight to
the death defending him. (Of course, your best friend would know you
are honor-bound to do that, so you were about to find out which he
valued more – the life of a friend or the death of an enemy).

There
was a time, in short, when guests were sacred and a host's courtesy
was a matter of the highest honor. When the code of hospitality was
among the highest social and moral laws, capable of resolving ethical
dilemmas in a way that now feels totally alien.

I'm
not about to argue for a return to that time. But I begin there to
illustrate how far human society has departed from one of its former
values – and whenever we do that, it's worth asking whether we have
maybe gone too far...
whether we've left something behind along the way that's worth going
back for.

The
“slow foods” movement exists because of a similar line of
questioning. We've recognized that, over the last century in
particular, modern mainstream food production has undergone radical
changes at every level. Yes, we've made food cheaper, easily
distributable, widely available without regard (on the consumer end)
to its local growing season or natural production cycle – “but,”
people began to ask, “at what cost?”

And so,
here we are: a small but growing group of people who desire to be
more connected to the foods we consume – to be more aware of where
it came from, how it was grown, what was involved. Who prefer,
masoch istic as it may seem to fast-pace-of-life addicts, to chop,
mix, cook, and even grow our own food to pealing off a round of
plastic wrap and tossing a “disposable” plastic tray into the
microwave. Who would really like it if Big Farm and Big Pharma had a
lot less to do with one another, thank you very much.

What I'd
like to suggest is that this desire, to be more connected to the
foods we eat, has even more to offer than health and well-being: that
it can help us become more connected to other people as well.

i.e.,
hospitality – and
what that under-appreciated word means for us, and our friends,
today.

I think
of my friend Derek, who has recently taken to growing tomatoes in
buckets on the back deck of his townhouse, for the express purpose of
being able to make his own spaghetti sauce when he has people over.
I picture a bunch of people sitting around his kitchen, talking and
playing games, while the tomato sauce simmers in thick, aromatic
bubbles in a giant pot on the stove behind them. The scent of basil
and oregano tinge the evening, rousing guests' appetites for the
feast to come.

What
does it communicate when you show up to a holiday party with a
platter of store-bought cookies or corporate-cut fruit and veggies?
I didn't have time, but I wanted to contribute.

Okay,
that's fair – no judgment here. We all get busy, and we'd much
rather you showed up than that you stayed away out of embarrassment
for lack of time to prepare something yourself.

But on
the other hand, what does it communicate when you show up with a
steaming made-from-scratch quiche, or a six-pack of home-brewed beer
as my friends Nate and Margaret have often done? Considerably more:

-You care about what you
eat and drink, and you care about your friends... so you care about
what your friends eat and drink, too.

-You took time, effort,
and energy to craft something personal for your friends, or your
friend's guests... something everyone can enjoy.

-You planned ahead
(probably. But if this is a lifestyle for you, not necessarily: a
little while ago my wife and I decided at the last minute to attend
a potluck, and because we bake our own beer bread two loaves at time
every week, we had a suitable contribution waiting to be shared.)

When
you're the one hosting, you have an even greater opportunity to
invest – both in the future of the slow foods movement and, more
importantly, in your friends.

Next
time you have people over for dinner, try this:

Plan
to eat at 7pm, but tell your guests to come at 5pm.

Don't
stress about trying to get everything done before they come. Your
friends don't expect a restaurant experience when they go to one
another's houses for dinner; it's okay for them to see your
cluttered kitchen. You're making their food, and they don't mind
the process – they're grateful.

In
fact – pro tip – if you succeed in conveying the “I'm a perfect
homemaker” vibe, with a delicious dinner in the oven and a
perfectly clean kitchen, you're actually less likely to get
a return invitation. Why?
Because you've given your friends the impression that that's what you
expect, that's your standard, and they won't invite you over unless
they feel like they can meet it in their own home.

Instead,
be working on dinner when they begin to arrive and be ready to
involve them in the cooking process whenever they get there. Even
if it's just chopping ingredients (maybe cut the onion yourself,
though), there's nothing more satisfying than working with your
hands and having something great to show for it as a result...
except maybe having something delicious to eat!

(If you
don't have a kitchen you can comfortably host from, make do as best
you can for now and write that down as a criteria for your next
lease/remodel/home purchase.)

What's
the purpose of doing dinner like this?

Well,
first and most basically, it gives everyone something to do.
Especially if you're making new friends or catching up with long-lost
acquaintances (or an ex...!), it fills up the awkward gaps when
you're figuring out what to talk about, and lots of people are more
comfortable when they're doing
something, rather than just sitting or standing, drink in hand, while
waiting for dinner to finish cooking.

Second,
you're putting yourself and your guests on the same level. You're
making them feel at home in your home by having them do something
homey with you.
You're inviting them to share your position as host – when you and
your guests cook together, you're all investing in your evening; now
everyone has a greater interest in its success. And when your food
is a smash hit (pro tip: don't use guests as guinea pigs for culinary
experiments without prior consent – taste-test recipes on your own
first!), you're allowing them to take pride for their part in
preparing it... rather than intimidating them with how delicious it
is. Again, you're far less likely to get a return invitation if your
guests come away thinking, I could never pull that off.

And
third, you're passing on some of the philosophy of the slow foods
movement without having to say a word about it. You could be
introducing people to home cooking who may not have grown up with it,
almost like hooking kids' interest in a school subject with a
hands-on activity. Or you could be reminding people of how good it
can be – not just the eating, but the whole experience – who may
not have gotten much of it since they left for college.

I titled
this post “Long Meals Together.”

Just
what do I mean by that?

It can
be hard, when we talk about being part of a movement like slow foods,
to avoid coming off as pretentious as Irish comedian Dylan Moran's
friends talking about their weekend:

“We
went to that really cool place, you know the one you haven't heard
of, it's called The Cellar, it's on the top floor of the building,
well, it's not really called The Cellar, it's called Umlaut, well,
it's not really called Umlaut, it's just two dots over a 'u' that
isn't there. Yeah, it's great, they make their own tomatoes out of
vodka...”

But by
mixing hospitality with slow foods – and the two really are natural
allies – we have an opportunity to show and not tell. We can give
a taste, literally and metaphorically, of what we're about.

A
long meal together is exactly what it sounds like. You begin by
involving your friends in the food, letting them experience it with
all their senses as it is prepared into a tasty meal. You have a
natural opportunity to talk about where you get your ingredients –
whether it's a local farm, co-op, market, backyard, or grocery store.
Moreover you communicate, non-verbally, something you're passionate
about while you discuss something they're passionate about. Sharing
a meal is the ostensible purpose of your get-together... so share the
whole meal, beginning
with pulling the ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard.

Oh,
and – pro tip: Pause between the main course and dessert.
Reconvene on the couches with some drinks, carry on the conversation,
digest for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then
break out the dessert. Remember, you invited them for dinner. If
dinner ends too soon, they may start feeling like you want them to
leave.

(On
that note: don't, Don't
start doing the dishes while your guests are still there. They'll
feel like they have to help, or they'll leave to avoid helping. The
best way to spoil their satisfaction at having contributed to an
excellent meal is to confront them with the cold dishwater of
reality. Cleanup can wait. They might be new to this, remember.)

Hey,
talking of long meals together – when are you free? Wednesday next
week?